


Please

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying Sherlock, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Inspired by Fanart, Johnlock Roulette, Kissing, M/M, OR IS DEAD IN THE FIRST PLACE REALLY, Post Mary, Post-Canon, Post-Reichenbach, So much angst, THE MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH TAG IS JUST TO BE SAFE!!!!! NO ONE STAYS DEAD, angst angst angst, because i thought it needed to be fixed as well, but i dont really know what happens to her, i hope this is good, nightmares are horrible, sherlock has a horrendous dream, someone wanted a piece of fanart fixed so i did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are in an alley, covered in blood. And it's all John's.</p><p>Inspired by a piece of fanart, which was in fact quite good, but it desperately needed to be fixed because of all the angst.</p><p>EDIT: ARTWORK NOW FOUND. LINK IN BEGINNING NOTES.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortheloveofjawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofjawn/gifts).



> Inspired by a piece of fan art by thetwelfthpanda on tumblr, two other tumblrians (?) requested a happy ending.  
> I hope I have delivered.
> 
> EDIT: Someone found the artwork for me, so I've provided a [link](http://41.media.tumblr.com/c272fc2e34df4a544b5cee09fd9f86eb/tumblr_nq8xddGaFg1ssnc8to1_1280.jpg)
> 
> EDIT THE SECOND: I AM SO SORRY. THIS WAS UN-BETAD AND USUALLY I TRY TO REALLY COMB WORK BEFORE I POST IT BUT IT SEEMS THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME. IN A POOR DEFENSE, I WOULD LIKE TO SAY THAT I TYPED SOME OF THIS ON MY PHONE, AND IT DOESN'T ALWAYS LIKE THE WORDS I TRY TO USE. *hides face in hands in embarrassment*

"John, please. Wake up." What sounded like a sob. "You're scaring me." A beat. " _Please_."

Sherlock was clutching John to his chest, his own face buried in John's neck.

"John, please. You have to wake up. There are things I haven't told you that I'd really rather you were awake to hear."

The alley they were in was damp and cold, though by now absolutely teeming with "helpful" people, mainly ones that were trying to take John away from him.

Sherlock could feel the warmth of John's blood on his chest and stomach, the still weeping wound on John somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

Said wound was ove- near his heart. Dangerously close, but not close enough, Sherlock hoped.

 _God_ he hoped.

Sherlock’s face was tear-streaked when Lestrade came over offering him a bright orange blanket and asking if he was alright.

“Of course I'm alright,” Sherlock snapped. “ _I'm_ fine. John is the one that is hurt. He’s hurt, Lestrade, can't you see that? Or is your funny little brain so small you can’t even see that?”

“Sherlock, John is-”

“No, he is not.” Sherlock sounded dangerous now, but he wasn’t looking at Lestrade anymore. He was staring into John’s face with a look of fierce and desperate hope. “John is fine. All he needs is a doctor, maybe some stitches and you’ll be all fine,” Sherlock crooned, still that look of desperation on his face as if all John needed was Sherlock’s hope and he would be ali- well again. That he would wake up again.

And by some miracle he did.

Then that miracle turned into a curse.

The people that were moments ago bustling around them had vanished into a deep grey fog, and all that was left were the bricks at Sherlock’s back, the cracked asphalt beneath his knees, and the blood- _everywhere_ the blood.

“I always knew it would end this way,” John hissed. “Me, dying by the wayside as you did your thing. _Always_ knew it, you _stupid_ little sociopath.” John snorted snidely, blood trickling from his nose and bubbling across his lips. “Never knew when to give up, did you? Always counted on your _pet_ -” John spat the word, “-to stay by your side. Never expected me to be the one to leave you, huh? Oh, I managed it once with Mary, but all the other times? It was you, always you, leaving me at crime scenes, leaving me at home without a note- even after we were married!- leaving me at _Bart's_.” John’s expression was thunderous. “Guess I get the last laugh now, eh?”

Sherlock was thunderstruck, his eyes wide and tear-filled. John? How could John have felt this way? John knew he had loved him- or did he? John had Mary, he would never look twice at-

John began to laugh, a deep, choking, gurgling laugh that was filled with malicious spite. He grabbed Sherlock left hand with his right and brought it into Sherlock’s line of sight.

A ring.

A ring glinted off of his hand, tungsten if he wasn’t mistaken- well cared for, a happy marriage, at least five years- and a matching one on John’s left hand, which was laying awkwardly at his side.

They were married?

Sherlock was shaking now, shaking on his own, and from John’s spiteful, guttural laughter.

Then from something else.

The main source of contact was on his left shoulder, while his right was resting on something soft, but firm. A stretcher? Hadn’t he already told Lestrade he was fine, that it was John who needed medical attention?

"Sh'lock? Y'alright? Sherlock?" John asked, his voice ragged with sleep. What was John doing on a stretcher next to him? And why was he talking? Were the paramedics being even more clueless than usual? John had a stab wound in his chest, God's sake!

"Sherlock, you're really scaring me now. Please. Wake up." John sounded genuinely upset and worried, not at all like how he had sounded in the alley.

Speaking of the alley, where were they? Sherlock could feel the sheets and they were a much higher thread count than any of the hospitals he had ever been to. It didn't smell like a hospital either, with their scents of death and disinfectant.

Instead, it smelled like home and John, or just John depending on how you look at it, seeing as John smelled like home. He could also tell that the sheets were tented over another body after falling off his side. And the body was roughly the same size as the average female, though significantly heavier and seemingly John.

Why was John in his bed? Why was he even in his room?

Sherlock heard the quiet hiss of skin against cloth, then felt the smooth glide of skin on skin once again on his left arm. Which is when he felt it. The warmth of skin-heated metal on John's ring finger. But Sherlock could feel John's naked chest at his back, along with quite a few more naked bits as well. After mentally cataloging, came sleepily to the conclusion that he too was naked.

And they were both in bed.

Was John cheating on Mary? No John would never betray a loved one like that, never, even if she was an assassin, and especially if she were pregnant

Then why were they in bed? _Together_?

"Sherlock, what's wrong? _Please_ tell me." John sighed. "Love, you were having a nightmare. It was only a dream."

At that, Sherlock rolled over onto his other side and faced John, his memory finally clicking into place from pre-nightmare and away from the temporary amnesia that all nightmares brought with them, the fear and shock finally draining away.

Sherlock faced John, his husband, both of them naked with the sheets pulled over their bodies. Sherlock finally took a deep restorative breath, filling his lungs with the scent of John.

"What was it, love?" John asked in that loving voice he reserved for a hurting Sherlock only.

Sherlock buried his face in John's neck and wrapped his arms around his husband, the actions faintly reminiscent of the nightmare, but so much more real- how had he ever been fooled by his paltry subconscious?- and half-breathed half-cried, "You were dead."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock in return, tucking Sherlock's ink black curls under his chin. "Oh, love, it's okay. I'll never leave you. Ever. Please, _please_ always remember that."

Sherlock chuckled wetly. Trust John to know exactly what to say, even without knowing exactly what he needed to talk about.

Sherlock sniffled. "But it wasn't just that, John. You were happy to leave, because you were angry with me for leaving you." Sherlock finally broke down into quiet sobs, and his arms tightened further around John. "I'm sorry John! Please don't leave me. _Please_. Don't ever leave me. Because without you-" His crying grew too exhaustive to allow him to speak and though the rest of his sentence was unspoken, it wasn't unheard. _Because without you, I'm nothing._ Sherlock shook in John's arms, taking comfort in the presence of his only friend, his lover, his _John_.

"Shh, love," John murmured. "I'll never leave you unless I have to, and I'll go kicking and screaming the entire way."

Sherlock hiccuped. "And you aren't mad at me for leaving you, like he was?"

John thought for a moment. "Yes, I am mad at you." Sherlock stiffened and tried to move away. John tightened his arms around him once more. " _But_ , I've forgiven you. I forgave you. I'm always forgiving you- for leaving me at crime scenes, for leaving me at home for leaving me at Barts."

Sherlock was once again struck by how life will imitate fiction- or in this case fiction imitates life, for John was an imitation of no one and nothing.

Sherlock drew his head from John's neck and slid the few mandatory inches through John's arms that would allow Sherlock to kiss him.

It was a kiss of thankfulness and gratitude; though it was wet with tears, they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of happiness and love, tears that any couple would welcome into a kiss. It didn't escalate, didn't go anywhere from there. It was simply an acknowledgement that they were together and nothing could separate them.

Once the kiss ended, Sherlock huddled down once more into John's arms and dropped off into a now restful and dreamless sleep.

John looked down at Sherlock, dead to the world now, no matter how much he denied he needed sleep. Then he too fell into a dreamless slumber, knowing that those he loved were safe, and that the one he had given his heart to knew he still had it.

As 221B settled around the two people that cared the most for it- but still managed to damage it the most- it felt...happy, inasmuch an inanimate object can feel happiness, in the knowledge that Dr. John Hamish Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes were both in said flat, together, just as they should be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There is some symbolism in this piece as well. Tungsten is a metal that is nigh unbreakable, and is becoming quite popular in wedding bands (my parents, who are former divorcees, both have Tungsten wedding bands to symbolize their now unbreakable bond). I thought that if John and Sherlock were ever to get married, *crosses fingers* they would choose something as symbolic as that to say "Yes, we are married, and we are never leaving each other."
> 
> And the way I have written this, I may even choose to extend it. I don't know.


End file.
